C-26
by MissJanuary
Summary: The plan was simple: Four days of summer sun, booze, and general debauchery. But then there was this clerical error...


**This was my entry for the TFLN Contest. Thanks to a lot of love it pulled in 1st Place Judge Vote, 2nd Place Public Vote and 2 Judge's Pick's! I was frickin' floored when I was that. So for those of you that have already read this, THANK YOU!**

**My beta team: Max and Lyn..big fucking hearts babies. **

**Prompt used: **

_**Can I get a hallelujah for railing the pastor's daughter last night?**_

_**C-26**_

_**(~)**_

Heavy grey smoke rolls around the room. Gunshots and various grizzly sounds boom from the speakers and I take aim. Looking the walking corpse right in the, I wink and pull the trigger.

"Nice shot!" Emmett roars next to me. He's fucked, like ate-the-special-brownies fucked. Dumb shit's shot and killed me twice now.

"Left, Em, up on the hill," I direct him, hand gestures and all … and then face-palm when the dude gets his face eaten off by some zombie bitch."Uh. _Other_ left, ya fuckin' boner." Normally Em's not this useless; he's actually pretty bright, but when he's glazed like this … what can I say, the weed fucking decimates the boys IQ. Smoke stupid. And, yeah, it's a thing. We've all got that one friend who can't deal when they're high. Normal intelligence all but disappears, common sense skips out the door, and monosyllabic conversations with the coffee table are par for the course.

Em's been in celebration mode since about eleven this morning. He wrote his last exam for some automation engineering shit this morning. Summer has begun … for him at least. Ergo the smoke and zombie killing at two in the afternoon.

Emmett's long-standing hard-on for robotics followed him into adulthood. He's forever breaking shit just to see how it works.

I don't care how the TV works; so long as the porn comes in clear, I'm good.

The screen door creaks open and slams shut.

"Can I get a motherfuckin' hallelujah for railing the pastor's daughter?" Jasper says, hands in the air, praising Jesus. His sandy blond curls look like a cluster-fuck to me, but the ladies dig his shaggy 'do.

"Jazz."

"Ed." Our fists meet over Em's head. Bud's still staring at the Game Over flashing on the screen.

"So where the hell'd _you_ meet a preacher's daughter?" I move to the kitchen, opening the fridge scanning for something to munch on.

"Pastor's," he corrects and I shrug. Same shit, really. "Adolescent Psychology study group, my friend," he says, dropping to the retro red vinyl chair. Like me, Jazz isn't finished with exams until tomorrow. Unlike me, he actually likes people. Wants to help them. Admirable, isn't it?

I fucking hate people. They talk entirely too much. They talk about their families, their jobs, their mother-humping golden doodles. What the fuck is a golden doodle?

Nope. Hate people. What kills them on the other hand, that's some interesting shit right there. Digging through the intricate workings of a human body to find a cause of death is the ultimate whodunit. Plus, minimal human contact required.

"Sweet little thing, she was. Angela Webber," Jasper says with a sigh as I hand him a soda and shut the fridge.

"Pop her cherry?" Emmett walks in and grabs a bag of Fritos, shoves a handful in his gapping mouth, and sits across from Jazz.

"No, sir. Those shores have been stormed." Jazz shakes his head.

"Bummer," Em mumbles through the crunch.

Jazz shrugs. "Skin like fucking honey. Big brown eyes. Man …" He sounds like he's in awe.

"She one of your rolly chicks?" Emmett asks with all the grace of a troglodyte.

Jasper isn't what you'd call a 'chubby chaser.' He simply loves women. All of them. The skinny, the full figured, the doe-eyed eighteen-year-olds, and the forty-something ex-wives. The man truly appreciates the fairer sex. I wouldn't call him a manwhore, or a player, because Jazz just doesn't fit the bill, man.

When he's in a relationship, he's honest, tentative, and solely focused on the woman he's with. Fucking around is just below the guy. He doesn't look at the menu and think "I'll have one of everything." No, he looks at it and says "I'll try that first." His tastes vary, and I gotta say I respect the hell out him.

"No." Jasper leans forward and flicks Emmett's ear hard, earning him a yelp. "Rolly? Where'd your mother hide your manners?" He makes some annoyed sound and sits back down.

I can't help but chuckle. Em's rubbing his ear and giving Jasper some serious stink-eye. Funny shit.

"Miss Angela Colleen Webber: size two, beautiful A-cups, wants to be a grief counsellor. Snorts when she laughs, screams when she comes." Jazz's face goes all soft and awe-y again.

"A-cups?" Emmett's grimace earns him a second ear flick. "Do it again, jackhole!" Em dares him, but we both know Bob Marley over there isn't about to do shit.

Emmett's type is leggy, blond, big tits—C- cup or better—and intelligence is optional. He doesn't make any apologies for his preferences, but he's quick to shoot down others.

Jasper ignores the idle threat and asks, "So, we're leaving after your exam, Ed?"

I nod. "Should be done 'round one, one-thirty. List is on the fridge," I say, pointing one finger at the stoned meathead and the other at the short To-Do list posted next to the Lily Pad Chinese take-out menu.

Two weeks ago when we booked our campsite, Emmett agreed to have his Escalade packed and ready by the time we got home. Two weeks ago Em wasn't swimming in brain stew and blinking like a demented kewpie doll. Em shoves another handful of corn chips into his mouth and nods, smiling wide and goofy.

Every year for the past three years we head out to Vancouver for four days of debauchery and male-type stupidity to celebrate the end of the year.

Meathead swallows another handful of crunchy corn, chasing it with a swig of Root Beer.

"Entertain the stoned chimp, would ya?" I look to Jasper, inclining my head toward said primate. "Keep him out of trouble. I gotta study," I say, pushing away from the counter.

Emmett belches. "I don't need a sitter, twat."

"Right. The broken window in the mud room is proof of that." Jasper jerks his thumb to the back of the house.

"I told you, it was the kid across the alley!" Emmett half shouts.

"He's eight, Em." I roll my eyes and shoot Jazz a pointed look. Emmett maintains that the eight-year-old boy from across the alley chucked a Frisbee and it sailed, with stunning precision, right into our fucking back door, shattering the window. Emmett was high and left unsupervised. And it's much more likely that he was being a tool in the backyard and busted that shit. Deplorable, blaming a child.

For the next three hours, I sink into my medical books. Later that night, I fall asleep reciting the effects of alcohol on the human body.

(~)

"This shit's ready to roll," Em says, lovingly slapping the back of his grey Escalade like a baby's bottom.

"Good, 'cause I'm done. My brains reached critical mass, dude." I trek up the front steps of our two-storey brick rental and toss my backpack onto the couch. The couch that, at some point before it belonged to a house full of ass-scratchers, was a light green. It's now a mossy-grey hybrid. Rather unappealing and I make a point not to sit on it.

I change my shirt. This one smells like finals—desperation, caffeine, cramming, and number two pencils—and wash my face before heading back downstairs.

Jasper is obviously still writing. Poor bastard had Professor McLiden for a proctor. Fucker liked to show up late. "Make 'em sweat," I'd heard him say once. The man was arrogant and a piss-poor teacher. I had him last year for Culture of Death and had the misfortune of watching him hit on junior after junior.

Philandering, self-important pricks like _Dr_. McLiden are the very reason my faith in humanity is queasy at the best of times.

Em and I wolf down a grilled cheese while we wait on Jazz.

"Fuckin' McLiden!" Jazz flings his backpack into the room. It lands at Emmett's giant feet. "That waste of ejaculate saunters in thirty minutes late with his café-latté-no-fat-who-gives-a-fuck coffee then proceeds to hand out the Scantron sheets in friggin' alphabetical order!" Jasper fumes.

Now, Jazz is an unnaturally mellow guy. Nothing ruffles his feathers and all that shit, but when he's tossing insults and slamming cupboards, nothing much to do but laugh.

(~)

The drive to the campground is long … and nearly painful.

I read somewhere, or maybe it was in a movie, that the U.S. military uses annoying songs like The Macarena on repeat to torture war criminals. Load Emmett with breakfast sausage and eggs drowning in hot sauce and you'd have a formidable weapon.

Worst road trip ever.

We pull up beside a hut, a long, thick arm reading STOP keeps us out of the park. I hand the ranger our site reservation confirmation and he hands me a black and orange parking pass. He instructs me to leave it propped in the windshield where it's visible. He goes on about garbage disposal, food storage, and the facilities available in the park.

"Site C-26. Down the road to the right. Follow the green markers to the C-lot," he directs, pointing out past the gate.

"Double lot, right?" Emmett confirms, leaning over me. His breath stinks, and I shove his face back.

Ranger Mike refers to his clipboard. "Yeah. Right on the water."

"Tits," Em says, rubbing his hands together.

Tits. now there's a euphemism I don't get. Awesome, Fuckin' A, Most Excellent. Those all make sense to me, but tits? Not so much.

We follow the green makers leading the way to lot C. The dirt road splits. The sign on the left says: C Lot 1-18. The one on the right reads: C Lot 19-28. We hook right.

Jasper keeps an eye out for our site, watching the small green numbered signs at the mouth of each site. Some campsites sit just feet from the gravelly road; others are tucked away and hidden by trees.

"Twenty-six," Jazz says from the backseat, tapping the window.

We pull in and as the thick curtain of leaves gives way, the glint of sparking water comes into view. The summer sun is still bright above us and it makes the surface all crystal-like.

The wheels slowly crunch to a stop on the rocky sand, and I shift into park. Pulling the keys from the ignition, I push open my door.

Jasper lets loose a whistle. "Hell of a view," he says with appreciation. And he's right, the fucking view is stunning. Blues and sparkling greys, trees that reach toward the clouds, and sand that disappears into the water. Perfect.

We begin pulling the contents of the trunk out, quick to locate the cooler full of cold beer and get to setting up our tents. Because Jasper and I are lazy as fuck (or very smart depending on how you look at it) we purchased pop-tents. Four person tent? No problem, unzip and toss.

Done, beer in hand and feet in the sand. Emmett on the other hand has this ridiculous frame to assemble … but that's his thing. He's grinning as he snaps pieces together, not the least bit bothered by the major time suckage going on.

My neck stretches as I hear the sound of a car pulling up to our site. Emmett gives the bright blue hatchback a glance and refocuses on the giant-ass tent. Jazz and I are on our feet and peering through the tinted glass. The driver's side window rolls down and a blonde wearing large round pink sunglasses half pokes her head out.

"Sorry, gentlemen, I think we got ourselves turned around. We're looking for C-26," she says, her fingers still gripping the steering wheel.

Jasper chuckles and steps forward. "You're parked on it, darlin'."

"Told ya!" a sharp voice hollers from somewhere in the backseat. There's a long haired brunette in the passenger seat, but she says nothing.

"Shut it," the blonde snaps. "Well shit, boys, I think Ranger Mike fucked up. Many apologies. We'll just turn around and head back to the office. Enjoy." She waves at us.

"No worries," I say, waving my beer hand.

"Hey, Hercules," she calls, tipping her head toward Emmett. "I have that same tent in orange." The car pops back and expertly manoeuvres back the way it came. Em just smiles and keeps on keepin' on.

Thirty minutes later and a second beer, Em's big blue tent is up and once again the sound of a car making its way toward us grabs my attention. The blue hatchback rolls to a stop and the blonde pops out, followed by a tiny, voluptuous dark-haired girl. Honestly, the chick couldn't be more than five feet tall. The quiet brunette stays tucked inside the car.

"So here's the deal, boys," the leggy blonde says with her hand on her hip. "It looks like you're stuck with us. They overbooked the site. Fucking software glitch or some such crap." She shrugs and pushes her pink sunglasses up so they rest on her head, moving her bangs out of the way.

"Pardon?" I say, looking at the group of girls.

"We're booked on the same campsite," shorty says real slow, like comprehension might be a major issue for me.

"So get another site," I helpfully suggest.

"'Cause we didn't try that, short bus." The little ones got a mouth. I can appreciate that.

Jasper lets out a hearty chuckle and shakes his head, slapping me on the back.

"I get it, no girls allowed. But the park is full. Some scout survival shit and a family reunion. Anyway, we both paid for the site. It's as much ours as it is yours. Pretty sure we can all play nice." She takes a step forward, offering her hand. "I'm Rose. The mouthy bitch is Alice. Lots of bark, just as much bite."

Well there goes the guys' weekend, right down the fallopian tube. It's not that I mind, really. Shit happens and there's nothing to do about it, I guess. But I can't help feeling like my simple weekend getaway just got fucking complicated.

"Jasper," he says, hand outstretched. "Nice to meet you, Rose. Alice." His gaze lingers on Alice, and I'm pretty sure he just slipped on his game face. Pastor's daughter, what?

A slender girl ducks out of the passenger side and sidles up to Alice. Alice turns to face her and her tiny and, might I point out, well-manicured hands begin to gesture, and I immediately recognize it as sign language. The pretty little brunette is deaf.

"Emmett." He gives a wave, and his eyes drop to Rose's ample chest and he smiles. She doesn't miss it and flips him off. His smile grows.

The silent girl steps forward and shakes each hand then points to her chest and signs something. Alice voices her silent speech. "_Hey, I'm Bella. Sorry about the mix up_."

I kind of can't help but watch her. Her eyes are intense, deep, and very intelligent. "Edward," I say, shaking hands with each of them. Alice tips her head toward me and signs what I assume is my name.

"Yeah, she's deaf," Rose says, looking at Emmett who's looking like he missed something important … like a clue. "Reads lips like a fuckin' pro though, so watch it, Hercules." She jabs a finger in his direction.

"What, I've never met a deaf chick before," Emmett defends. It's a pathetic attempt, but they seem to accept it.

Bella watches the exchange and a funny, muted sounding giggle tumbles from her mouth.

"Pay no attention to oaf in the plaid shorts," I say, cocking my head in Em's direction. "He has bad manners … and he smells." That earns a chuckle from all three.

Jasper is quick to offer his services, ever the fucking gentlemen. In no time at all, all three of the girls are settled and kicking back in lawn chairs, flip-flops forgotten, T-shirts chucked, and thank you baby Jesus for bikinis. The view's nice, I'm not gonna lie.

Night swims up around us, and we kindly keep to our respective camps. Girls on the right, boys on the left. I'm kind of mesmerized by their hands and the way random words slip from their mouths as they chat.

We decide on hot dogs and coleslaw for dinner. The ladies are unabashedly hoovering s'mores and giggling as the drinks go down cold and easy. They don't mind our music, and in fact ask us to turn it up. Somewhere around one in the morning, it's evident the little one's tanked. She put up an admirable fight for someone so small.

"Alice, I do believe you're snookered," I say with a wide grin.

"Never played the game," she slur-mumbles and wiggles out of her shorts.

"Drunk, girl. You. Are. Drunk." Rose nods and laughs as her tiny friend scowls at her.

"Nah … nah. Er, just a little buzzed." She is fooling no one. "Swim?" she asks, kind of, before teetering toward the water line.

"Alice, darlin', that water will be freezing. Ya might want to think about waiting until morning." Jasper stands and makes his way to bikini-clad girl. Chick has serious curves and she isn't the least bit shy about them.

With all the grace of, well, a drunken midget, she reaches behind her and digs her bathing suit out of her ass.

"Killing me with class," Jazz says as he follows her in. Wise move. She's more than tipsy.

"Thank you, Jasper," Rose calls, and he waves a hand in the air.

Bella emerges from her tent in a cozy looking pair of sleep pants and a thin short-sleeved shirt that has paint stains splashed all over it. She follows our collective gaze and gives the universal what-the-fuck shrug.

Rose begins to sign, speaking out loud. "Drunken asshole thinks it's prime time for a midnight swim," she explains as Bella lowers herself to the ground. She laughs with no restraint, and although it's not a typical lilting, girly-type of laugh, it's sweet and lovely just the same.

"So, she can laugh and make weird little noises, but she can't talk?" Emmett asks, and I can tell he's been dying to ask all night.

Rose translates Em's question, and suddenly Bella has a voice. "I can speak. But most people find it … off-putting."

"Most people are unimaginable assholes," I offer, not put off in the least by her nasal, almost strained voice.

Rose signs, but Bella is nodding and laughing before she can finish.

I stand and move to the cooler oh-so conveniently located on the other side of Em. I grab a water, offer the girls each one. Bella accepts. Rose passes.

"What about me?" Em says, an honest whine in his fucking voice.

"You're sitting right next to it, boner. Pretty sure you can handle this shit."

That soft, muted laugh leaves Bella again and I smile. "Mind if I ask how you lost your hearing?" I look at Bella then quickly shift my gaze to Rose, watching her hands form a language I don't understand.

"Look at Bella when you talk to her. Ignore the wizard behind the curtain," Rose instructs with a quick smile and a wink. I nod, not having the first damned clue about deaf culture and etiquette.

My eyes shift back to the willowy brunette in the sand.

"I was born with normal hearing," she explains, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "When I was three, I was in a car accident. Broken ribs, dislocated collarbone, and a head injury. The swelling blew my ear drums."

"But you can talk?" Obviously Em's still a tad puzzled.

Rose doesn't bother to translate. She isn't kidding, Bella's a friggin' ninja lip-reader.

"My vocal chords are intact, dumbass. Of course I can talk," Bella says with a playful bite to her tone.

"I'm a fucktard, I know, but how does that work? I mean, if you'd never heard speech, how do learn to use it?" Em leans in, actually looking interested. Well shit.

"I was three. I had hearing and a voice. I worked with a vocal coach to help me form sounds properly, but …" She stopped, her eyes shifting to me. "I sound like I've got a mouth full of cotton balls."

"Huh," Em says, leaning back in his chair. "Learned something new."

I quirk a brow and a half-assed smile.

"What? I don't know this shit. I'm not in med school like some of you jackholes." He gives Bella and Rose a hammy grin and grabs a handful of cheesy puffs I didn't even know he had. Hoarder.

The topic of school comes up and I'm floored to learn these three ladies attend the UW. It's a huge campus with a student body that gives most small towns a run for their money. They're also a year behind us. Rose is running a concurrent degree program in Public Health and Nursing, which is kind of fucking impressive. Nursing's a hard field and it takes a lot out of you. I'd know, my mother's been a pediatric nurse for thirty years and losing a patient never gets easier. Bella is working toward a masters in Digital Arts and Experimental Media. I have no fucking clue what that means, but she lights up when she talks about it.

And our friendly neighborhood drunk is on her way to a bachelors in Speech Pathology.

Bella looks back at the inky water behind her. "Where's Alice?" There's humor in her voice and her brown eyes twinkle in the firelight.

"Singing the oh-oh-my chores, is my guess." Em's face contorts in something that I hope to the fucking sweet baby Jesus is _not_ his O-face.

"I smell shenanigans," Rose says in a sing-song voice.

"No, that's sex you smell," I correct her, and point down the shoreline at two pale as fuck bodies lit by moonlight.

Rose turns in her lawn chair, spotting the naked couple and cupping her hands around her mouth shouts, "Alice Caroline, we can see you!"

"Great! How do my tits look?" came Alice's voice, nearly lost by the sound of the waves lapping at the shore.

(~)

Saturday rolls in and so does the smell of pancakes. The beer-hotdog aftertaste curls around my tongue and I need a toothbrush fucking stat. I shove the blankets off and lie there for another minute, feeling lazy and still a little sleep-stupid. With my arms thrown over my head, I quickly realize a toothbrush is not all I need. I smell like a goddamned yeti. My lip curls and my nose crinkles. I am foul.

Blindly, I reach behind me and search the contents of my giant duffle bag until my hands wrap around a bottle of minty goodness. I dig around some more, pulling out body wash, a scrubby thing, and a toothbrush. Grabbing the towel I'd unceremoniously hucked into the tent last night, I sit up, hand on the tent zipper … and groan.

Motherfucking morning wood.

Now, normally this shit wouldn't be a problem, but the all too feminine voices that push through the thin walls of my tent remind me that I am not, in fact, in a position to just walk on out, hard-on and all.

And I hate my life.

Fuck this, I think, scooping up my morning essentials. I'll make no apologies for my unruly male anatomy. Although, I'll do my best to hide that shit with the towel.

I unzip the door, carefully place towel at the ready, and duck on out. The morning sun is already warm and bright, and my eyes sting a little. Waving a quick and awkward good morning to everyone … minus Alice, who I can only assume is sleeping off a monster hangover.

Walk of shame. Pft. That chick walked back toward the campsite last night, securing her bikini top and thanking Jasper for the, and I fucking quote, "Bedtime story and warm milk." Not gonna lie, I didn't know whether to laugh or cringe.

"Morning, Ed." Em greets, mouth full of pancake. It's the rare fucking occasion that I see the dude without food. Maybe it's a tapeworm?

"Morning," I say, my throat dry and that gross taste kicking up in my mouth again.

As I slide my feet into my chucks and make for the shower facilities, I can't help but notice Bella in her bright shorts and peasant top … and jaw practically unhinged, staring at my bare chest. I toss her a sly wink. Nice view, I know.

Rose's thumb lovingly swipes at the corners of Bella's mouth. "You're drooling, baby," she says when Bella's head snaps around to meet her friend's amused face.

The shower facilities are far from five star, and there are about sixty fucking pre-teens running around, but I get my business taken care of and head back to the campsite. Bella meets me with a plate full of pancakes.

"I was staring. I'm a shameless whore," she says, pushing the plate at me. Her cheeks are stained a rosy pink. It's cute. "Sorry." She signs, rubbing her fist in a circle in the centre of her chest.

I take the plate, and she takes the toiletries. "I'm hot, I get it."

"Arrogant too. Such a unique combination. Refreshing," she jokes, rolling her eyes.

"Fluent in three languages. Smart cookie." I plop into a lawn chair, and Bella chucks my stuff into my open tent.

"What?" she says, her hands out in front of her.

"English, American Sign Language, and sarcasm. It's impressive." I bring the fork to my mouth and the smell is sweet and light, and they taste so fucking yummy.

Bella giggles.

"This is good," I mumble around a chunk of fluffy goodness. Christ, I'm becoming Emmett.

"Thanks." Her hand signs along, and it looks like reflex, habit. Her mouth moves, and so do her hands, and I think that it's not all that different in the hearing world; the way we gesticulate. The excited, exaggerated movements we make when we're all fired up. It's a part of our speech too. Where our hands are used for emphasis, hers are used to form words, thoughts.

The day slowly rolls away, the sunlight dying bit by bit. Bright yellows and soft blues are replaced by burnt oranges, streaks of indigo, and smoky blues, and there's a very obvious pairing off happening. Em seems to be intensely concentrating on Rose's stellar joint rolling skills. Jasper's digging a moat around a sad looking castle as Alice puts a few finishing touches on the turret. And the quiet brunette sits next to me helping me cook up dinner. At some point we started combining our food. Admittedly, the ladies menu choices were a little more …thoughtful. Bella has this all under control, though, and I'm just sitting here like the slug I am, beer in hand.

I watch Alice flash Jazz and laugh. She's pretty much perfect for him. She has this take-no-shit, sling-no-shit kind of attitude. The little raven-haired thing is feisty, and she's got a hell of bark, but she's funny and often very sweet.

"Did you all meet in school?" I ask and get no response. Deaf, dumbass, she's deaf. I reach out and touch Bella's arm, earning her attention. She cocks her head, knowing there's a question. "Did you guys meet in school?" I gesture to the girls.

An old, soft smile plays on her lips. "We grew up on the same block. School, first periods, unfortunate dates, softball … pretty much done it all with those bitches." She holds up two dressings.

"Italian." I point to the bottle and flip the fish.

After dinner, and a few good tokes, we decide on a Frisbee game, and it just might be the funniest damned thing I've ever seen. 'Course that might be the drugs. Weed makes me a little giddy, don't judge me.

Emmett's sprawled out in the sand, facedown, having dove for the Frisbee way too soon. Everything goes over Alice's head, literally, but the girl gives no fucks and jumps for the disc anyway. All the boobs are a major distraction. Seriously, how's a man supposed to focus on the neon green disc when there are fabulous neon clad breasts bouncing everywhere? This game's rigged.

The sky goes dark and we build another fire, music plays, and another colossal joint is passed around. We talk worst dates, and the award goes to Emmett for his date with Kellie the klepto. She had a bit of a fascination with knick-knacks, particularly Em's mom's snow globe collection. A close second though goes to Bella for her date with Third Person Brad. Spoke entirely in the third person. Who the fuck does that?

Jasper cuddles up to the mouthy midget—and I'm no Nostradamus, but I'll bet my left ball on a round two tonight.

"You should walk around topless more often," Bella says, just before her pink lips wrap around the joint. There's a flirty smiling playing around the corners.

The smirk on my face feels lazy … and I might be drooling. Fuck this is good weed! "So should you." And yeah, there's a little bit of a challenge in my voice, not that she can hear it.

Stoned and still grinning, she stands, and then straddles my legs, and I fucking die a little. Like a pro, she shotguns me, that flirty, not-really-shy-at-all smile blooms across her face again. The swell of her breasts is oh-so close to my mouth and the urge to taste her is ridiculous.

Bella's chocolate syrup eyes follow mine. "They're decent. I'd stare too." Though it's muted, soft, I can hear the humor in her voice.

I go all stoned-ninja and quickly glance around. The others are occupied and not paying an ounce of attention to me and Bella. I snake my hand up under the pale peasant top and pull at the knot in front holding her swimsuit together. The strings fall limp between her breasts, but the triangles covering them stay put. Damned things. She must see the look of disappointment on my face because she laughs and the gentle shake of her body feels so fucking good. Bella looks pointedly at the joint, an eyebrow cocking high in question, and I nod. She takes a long, hard pull and her mouth drops to mine. Her lips nearly touch mine as smoke unfurls and I inhale. When she draws back, she places a hand on my chest. The joint's not much more than a roach now, so I lick my index finger and thumb and quickly snuff out the heater.

Bella turns slightly in my lap and hurls the tiny roach into the fire. The neon material covering her perky tits slacks with her movement, and the tiniest bit of rosy nipple peeks out. And fuck this; I'm done with this bikini top. My hands reach out and dip into the wide V-cut of the linen top. I push the offending material away, and Bella's breath catches when my palms slide over her pebbled nipples.

I drop my hands and let my eyes roam over her exposed skin. Absolutely perfect. Round, beautifully shaped, perfection. Heat flushes Bella's skin and she squirms under my gaze. "Your tits are fucking stunning," I mouth.

Her face pinches in confusion. She has no idea what I just said. Crap. I repeat it, my voice a whisper easily swallowed by the waves and the music. Her lips thin out and she shakes her head, wisps of brunette hair escaping from the loose ponytail. So, I resort to pantomiming and point to her boobs and give her the thumbs up. Completely fucking lame, and I can't believe I just did that.

Bella ducks her head. Her mouth hovers just above my ear. "Am I whispering?" she asks, unsure of her volume. I give her the universal sign for "turn it down a little." "Better?" I nod and the feel of her warm breath fanning over my neck is enough to make my skin hum and my blood pump a little harder.

"Sometimes when we mouth words, we exaggerate, and what I assume was 'your tits are fucking stunning' becomes _your kids are fucking cunning._ Speak at a normal pace, try not to over enunciate, and make sure you've got my attention." Bella pulls back and shifts her hips the tiniest bit, likely not even intentionally, but it's enough. A wicked grin lights her face when she feels my dick jump.

She shimmies and takes way too much delight in the mess I'm making of my bottom lip. She looks over her shoulder, and I'd been so lost in the beautiful girl on my lap, I hadn't noticed that we're alone. I search the dark landscape and catch sight of shapes walking down the beach. Emmett and Rose. Jasper and Alice are nowhere to be found. My eyes flip back to the willowy girl straddling my lap.

"Smoke makes you horny?" I ask, leaning up and looking her dead in the eye.

"Yes. But I wasn't high last night when I fucked myself to sleep."

Pardon. Me?

And right there, just like that, I'm hard. She was no more than twenty feet away from me, fingering herself. Lord have mercy.

Bella laughs and it's a rough sound.

_She started this shit,_ I think as my hands ghost up her bare legs, tickling her outer thighs. She rolls her hips slow and firm, and there's no fucking way that wasn't a loaded gesture. My hands grip her waist and urge her to keep moving. Her small, delicate hands splay across my chest and she rakes her nails down to my stomach, making my muscles tense and ripple.

"Fuck." I blow out in a harsh breath and pull Bella closer against me. When she moans, I about fucking lose it. The urge to throw her down and do dirty, dirty things is ridiculous.

Fingernails bite into my biceps and her face is flushed when she leans in and sucks my earlobe into her warm mouth.

Game on, sweetie.

Gripping her hips, I move her body against mine and it's almost violent. Push and pull and seek and take.

"Take off your shirt," she demands between airy sounds, plucking at the white material.

"You first." I tip my chin up and point to her.

And I gotta hand it to her, chick's got balls. Without skipping a beat, she pulls the loose top over her head and lets it flutter to the sand. My eyes go wide as the moon as I take her in. Reaching up, I brush the thin strings of her bikini down her shoulders and she shrugs it off. That too pools on the ground next to us.

Bella starts to move again, riding my lap. Bet those jean cut offs feel pretty fuckin' good right about now. I realize the second she hits the "oh yeah" moment. You know the one—things go from_ that feels good,_ to _oh yeah! _ Her pace quickens, her cheeks light up, and her mouth crushes down on mine. And I'm swimming in Bella. The tip of her tongue reaches out, and I open my mouth, happy to invite her in. She tastes like marijuana and, strangely, apples.

Palms glide over skin, tongues taste, and teeth nip. Suddenly, Bella's back arches and she grinds down hard. I can feel the warmth rush between her legs. Her head is thrown back and the groan that drops from her lips is pure pleasure. Backlit by the dying fire, she might just be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Dropping forward, her palms rest on my shoulders and she works to catch her breath. Between soft pants, she says, "Haven't dry humped since grade ten." Then the flushed brunette bursts into giggles.

With two fingers, I tip her chin so that she can see my face. "Show me how to sign _beautiful_."

Her eyes search my face for a moment, and I don't know what she's looking for, but she must find it. She raises her hand, and in a fanning motion, she sweeps it over her face. I mimic it and she smiles, nodding.

I point to her, scoop up her tiny, warm hand, and with the other, sign _beautiful_.

"You're only saying that because you saw my O-face."

I tell her that although her blissed out face is stupidly stunning, she has it wrong. I thought she was beautiful the moment she stepped out of the car.

We sit there, huddled together, bare chested until I hear Alice's lilting voice carry across the night. She's rambling about some sort of injustice involving Ping-Pong and a fuckin' ten-year-old, and I'm not even gonna ask. I scoop up my T-shirt and hand it to her. Gesturing to my ear, I sign what I've come to learn is a name sign for Alice. Bella pulls a nervous face, blushing like a virgin, and I kind of want to lick her face she looks so damn sweet.

Bella stands and it's only then that I realize, A) my legs are numb as shit, B) I still have an erection. Awesome. And C) Bella needs to wear my clothes, like, for the rest of the weekend.

Bella's petite raven-haired friend sidles up to us and her eyes grow as wide as saucers. Her hands start flying, Bella's match in speed and fury, and I can only imagine what they're saying.

"Edward, man, I leave you alone for an hour and you're corrupting the poor girl." Jasper's face is stern and serious, but his tone is heavily smothered in amusement.

"I've done no such thing. She needed no help in that department, sir." Which is true, the wicked little thing seduced me … and she owes me an orgasm.

Bella and Alice's silent conversation ends with girly giggles. When Bella pulls me toward her tent, Alice steps in my path, back to Bella.

"She's not a conquest. A story to tell your friends … the one time you banged that deaf chick. She's had enough of that shit. Got me?" Alice's voice is deadly serious and begs my understanding. Of course, dig just a little deeper, and the threat to my manhood is easy to hear too.

And I do.

My sister, Victoria, was born blind. She's three years older than me, and as fiery as her red hair implies. The looks she gets with her white cane by her side, the assumptions that her disability includes diminished intelligence, and worse—the look people give when they realize that that's so not the case. Assholes that would get close, tell her they want her, and then leave her. I understand why Alice is a little on the ragey mama cat side.

"People are assholes, Alice. Men, women, all fucking douchebags. They talk too much, expect too much, and give as little as possible. You don't know me from fucking Adam, so I get why you'd wanna lump me into that category. But I never, not for second, looked at her and thought she'd make a great story." With that, I amble around her, my hand sliding into Bella's and follow the girl in my white T-shirt to her tent.

"Now, kitten, you've gone and pissed him off, Not smart, he volunteered to make breakfast tomorrow," I hear Jasper say somewhere behind me.

(~)

"Alice gave you shit, didn't she?" Bella asks, lying on her side. Her hair falls over her shoulder like ink running on the stark white shirt. The lighting isn't great, but I can make out her features. Her lips are still a little swollen.

I get comfortable, my hand automatically reaching for her hip. "She did."

Bella shakes her head. "Too dark, I can't read your lips." She pulls herself to her knees and turns away from me, giving me a prime look at her ass. A very nice ass at that. She starts rooting around, chucking things over her head: a towel, a hoodie … a pair of soft purple panties. I chuckle, knowing she has no idea she just hurled underwear at me. 'Course, I don't plan on giving them back unless she asks really nicely.

"Bah," I hear her exclaim, and it's a triumphant sound. She turns with a small flashlight in her hand. She clicks it on and shines it at my face. A rather unlady-like snort bursts from her lips. "You look like a vampire. All pale and broody."

I roll my eyes and pat the space on the air mattress she'd been occupying pre-flashlight search.

She sinks to the ground and twists her perfect little body toward me, the flashlight nestled between us. "So she let you have it?" It takes me second to catch up to what she's asking. "Alice?" she prompts. Reaching out she begins to trace designs on my bare chest. Her chocolate kiss eyes fixate somewhere around the dark patch of hair that snakes down below my waistband.

Naughty girl.

"Yes." I nod. "She's kinda hot when she's pissed." True. The pint-sized woman was all fire when she lectured me. That earns me a swat and her eyes narrow on me.

"Rose and Alice can be a little protective. Too many late nights with Ben and Jerry's, I guess." She gives a lopsided shrug, like it's no big deal.

I take a breath and tell her about Victoria. I tell her about the people that teased her, about the boys in high school that trapped her in a stairwell, whispered perverted things and taunted her, and the one that had the nerve to _touch_ _her_. Bella's eyes fill with tears when I tell her about the 'boyfriends' that came and went, only wanting the bragging rights that supposedly came with sleeping with a blind girl. Ya, those douches exist, sadly.

Vickie's experiences shaped who I am. My mother and father taught me to love and respect women: to see them as equals, and I always have, but seeing what Vickie went through strained my view of humanity. No rose-coloured glasses here. I see people for what they are, or at least for their remarkable capacity for fuckery.

"I lost my virginity when I was seventeen to my dad's best friend's son. We grew up together, played on the same soccer team, went to school dances. It just seemed, you know, normal to be with him," Bella admits, the white-blur of the flashlight throws shadows on one side of her face. Quiet seeps into the tent and Bella looks away. "Monday at school, everything was different. He was cold, rude. Jake had never been anything but sweet, so I thought it was me. I did something wrong."

I open my mouth to protest, but her finger crosses my lips and I take the hint, closing my trap.

"I asked him what was up. I asked if I'd … not been good." Her voice shakes and the sound makes my chest hurt. "He told me the noises I made _disgusted_ him. That I wasn't normal, and for the first time in my life, I believed that."

I don't know this dude from a fucking hole in the ground, but the desire to hunt him down and shove my foot up his ass is ridiculous. An angry burn crawls over my skin, and, not for the first time in my twenty-three years, I'm ashamed to be apart of the male species. I pull her closer, the flashlight caught in the small space between our chests. "The sounds you made," I say, jerking my chin, "were incredibly sexy."

A mixture of horror and embarrassment curdles her soft features, and I realize she had no idea that she even made a sound. "Sneaked one past the goalie?" I say, jokingly in hopes of wiping that fucking look off her face. Instead, she looks away, and_ fuck that!_ Grabbing her hips, I roll her on top of me. The flashlight falls and Bella's sharp intake of breath puts a cocky grin on my face. My hand finds the flashlight and I angle it so she can see my face.

"I want to _hear _you. Every moan, sigh, and groan." I drop the light and seek out the hem of the cotton shirt, tugging it up over her head.

She hesitates for a hot second, and then her mouth is on mine, lighting me up from the inside. Yeah, I just went all Saturday night Chick Flick right there, but fuck if her mouth doesn't taste and move like Heaven.

My hands are all over her, because I'm feeling greedy like that. Bella's skin is warm and smooth and tastes like salt and sunscreen. I pop the button on her shorts, and the flushed brunette sits up suddenly, palms flat on my chest. "They're going to hear me." And there's that shitty hitch in her voice, in her self-confidence. I hate that hitch.

I huff, not out of annoyance with Bella but because the flashlight's rolled away and I grope around for it. Finding it, I hold it up like the cheap trophy I got in sixth-grade house league. "Do you have any idea how many times I've heard those bastards?" I jerk my head back, indicating the two dipshits I came here with. She still looks unsure. "Alice climbed up on Jazz and rode him on the beach in plain damn site. Haven't heard any apologies from her," I remind her, quirking a brow.

She nods and her face says: true, true.

Kissing takes on a new pitch, hungry and completely unrestrained. She's not holding back and the way she sucks on the side of my neck melts my fucking bones. I've become a spineless, boneless pussy under this girl's hands. I roll her beneath me and hover above her for a moment, kissing her forehead. Pushing back on my knees, I slowly pull her zipper down. She lifts her hips, giving me the okay I need. Awkwardly, I shimmy them down her legs and we shift this way then that in an effort to rid ourselves of the last of our clothing.

Her waist is trim and the gentle flare of her hips has my blood humming. Of all the curves and lines, this is my favorite. There's something intensely feminine about it: hips that round and blossom during puberty and again during pregnancy. And with that same thought, I freeze. Sex wasn't something I planned for this weekend. Drinking, yes. Drugs, yup. Sexy brunette, not so much.

Fuck.

"What?" she asks, fingers gently stroking me.

Fucking stupid flashlight! I fumble around, pulling it out from under the air mattress. "No condoms, love. I … I so wasn't a boy scout." A grin that makes my stomach clench, that promises bad, bad things, blooms on her perfect face, and she laces her fingers in mine, drawing me toward her. Guiding my fingers to her lips, she sucks them into her mouth. Her tongue slides along my digits and swear I my eyes roll.

"Finger me," she demands. My wet fingers slip from her mouth.

Done deal, I think. My fingertips trip and dance along her naked body until they find soft curls and sticky heat. I tug at her hips, pulling her up, letting her ass rest on my thighs. Spreading her open, I feel her tummy quiver and when my fingers push inside, she mewls little a kitten. Her hips roll and rides and God the _sounds_! They're soft and rough and airy and high all at once. When she comes on my hands, panting, I think that this isn't enough. Not even close.

Barely giving her body a chance to settle, she sits up and the slide of her against me makes me moan. Bella shoves playfully and I oblige, letting my legs unfurl. As soon as my back hits the noisiest fucking mattress ever, Bella wiggles down, down, down. Her lips wrap around my cock and I can't help the way they push up to met her.

She moans and hums around me and its pretty much fucking bliss. The sun can come up tomorrow … or not. I'm good.

(~)

**June 2016**

"Monkey man, let's go!" Rose hollers, hands on her hips and her belly just barely swelling. Four months ago Emmett's super jam broke past the condom —and apparently missed the memo about the pill—and wham, mini monkey on the way.

Emmett's ecstatic! Who knew the boy harbored family feelings? The shit you learn about your housemate when they're in a serious relationship is astounding. For instance, Jasper fucks with his socks on. Didn't need to know that shit, but after hearing Alice yammer about it for the umpteenth time, it's kinda just in there now.

"Sunscreen!" Em shouts, lumbering down the steps of their new two storey. Em graduated last year and walked into a comfy position at some robotics company. It isn't his dream job, but it's only a few steps down the path. I couldn't be happier for the jackhole.

"That's everything. I think we're ready," I say, slowly signing along. My hands still make a mess of words, but my girl is patient with me … and an amazing motivator. And yes, by motivation, I mean sexual favors.

The Escalade is packed, Bella's Accent is packed, and Alice's midget body is stretched out across in the back, her feet resting in Jasper's lap. She's happily sings along to_ City and Colour_. Completely out of tune, I might add, but the girl gives no shits. I admire that about her.

Jasper still has a year of schooling, like me. He's decided to specialize in Behavioral Psych. Over the last two years, he's developed an interest in Autism. That fascination may or may not have something to do with Alice's little brother Riley. He's fourteen and amazing, and much like his big sister, couldn't care what the world around him thinks.

We pull away, heading toward the mistake that brought us all together two years ago. The sun's hiding behind the clouds, and the breeze is cooler than I'd like. Bella cues up my iPod and shoots me a stunning smile. As we pull up to a stop sign, she flicks my arm to get my attention.

"I have plans for you. Bad things," she signs, "unholy, bad things. I hope you did your stretches." Not a word leaves her mouth, but the look in her eyes makes the tone crystal clear.

I laugh and shake my head. "Watch the road," I sign, not bothering to speak because I don't feel like sharing.

Two years ago, the sun came up on a warm Sunday morning, promises were made, friends gained, and plans changed. Since then caps have flown into the air, careers begun, passions found, and families joined. Tomorrow when the sun breaks over C-26, a new promise will be made. A promise of forever. And yeah, I'm aware I just went all vagina monologues, but the damn brunette sitting next to me does that shit to me. She complicates my life in the best way, and I can't stand the thought of a single tomorrow without her.

* * *

><p><strong>End Notes: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. <strong>

**On a side note, I support people who are deafblind, my job is not easy, often stupidly rewarding ,and ALWAYS keeps my on my toes. But what prompted Bella's character is the interaction's I see everyday between the consumers (clients, patients, whatever word your comfy with) I support and "regular" people in the community. **

**Someday's I'm floored by the kindness, the ****genuine kind that harbors no pity for them, but rather appreciates my consumers for the people they are. Other days I what to burnt he world down because I'm convinced humanity is a fucking lost cause. The "looks", pointing and horrible;e words are by no means an exaggeration. So, people: If you don't understand it, fear it, or are made uncomfortable by it, ask questions. Questions are always better then blank looks, walking in the other direction, or hateful words. And really, let's be better people, people! Easy as that!**

**3 MissJanuary **


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